


Language Lesson

by EllanaSan



Series: The Bunker Series [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Season/Series 04, and where it turns into an anatomy lesson, bunker!fic, cough cough, the bunker series, the one where marcus teaches Abby Trigedasleng, yeah they might be playing doctor a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 20:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: “Marcus Kane, are you suggesting we play doctor?” she teases.He lifts innocent eyebrows back at her. Truth be told, he has originally only meant to help her figuring out how to conduct an exam in Trigedasleng but now that she has putthatidea in his head…“I suddenly feelveryill, Doctor Griffin…” he jokes, hoping for a laugh.





	Language Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> I knoooow I missed an update last week! Sorry :/ Well, you get a nice smutty one this week ;) Hope you like it!

_3 Weeks, 1 Day_

* * *

 

Abby is sitting cross-legged on the bed with her back to the wall when Marcus walks into their room, surrounded by various scraps of papers full of scribbles in her painful to the eye tight doctor handwriting. For a second he’s taken more than twenty years in the past when she had just started dating Jake and was still studying for her medical exams and used to drag notes everywhere with her. Then his mind flashed back to those months when she had been Chancellor and her tendency to spread reports around and leave them for him to pick up afterwards.

He never understood how a doctor could be so little organized but there is no doubt as to whom is the ordered one in this relationship – for one thing, the fact that he is the one making the bed every morning and usually cleaning once a week is telling. He doesn’t mind, not really, too used to do it for himself, but it amuses him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, closing the door behind him. He sheds his jacket and tosses it on the small dresser on the furthest wall, wedged between the bed and the bathroom door, before sitting down at the foot of the bed, careful not to disrupt the system she seems to have going on – assuming there _is_ a system at all.

They need bigger quarters, he muses distractedly and immediately feels guilty because at least _they_ have quarters. Everyone else apart from the clan leaders are still camping in the various dormitories. They need to solve the housing problem soon, he knows, the close quarters situation only exacerbates tensions and they’re at risk of illness outbreak. There _are_ enough individual rooms in the lower levels but some are bigger than others, some are meant for single people, others for family and they need to do a census before they can dispatch them and it looks like an astronomical amount of work he would prefer to tackle _after_ he is sure every department essential to their survival works properly. Unless Octavia decides otherwise – and even _then –_ it is still the priority.

“I’m trying to make sense of this _damn_ language.” she sighs, tossing the notepad aside to grab a random piece of paper. “None of it makes sense.”

“You were doing better.” he frowns.

Abby isn’t good with languages. It comes down to that. Give her a math problem, she will solve it. Give her a medical problem, she will find a solution. But languages… He has known her long enough to be certain it has never been her area.

“Not good enough.” She purses her lips in annoyance at her own limitations, her eyes staring at the wall straight ahead rather than at him. “A Grounder’s appendicitis bursts before I understood what he was trying to tell me.”

“Is he…” He lets his voice trail off, not quite willing to say the word _dead_. He is a bit wary with that word around Abby nowadays. He’s not sure she can bear another failure and he knows with all he has that a patient dying on her will feel that way – even more so if it happens because of a language problem.

“No. I figured it out. He’s alright.” She shrugs but it’s subdued. “I just need the right vocabulary… It is too specific…”

“Why didn’t you ask Niylah?” he probes, reaching for her hand.

She smiles a little when he squeezes her fingers and finally meets his eyes. “She was busy with someone else. Medical is never empty, you know that. I can’t rely on someone else to translate all the time…”

He doesn’t like the bags under her eyes, doesn’t like how pale she always is lately… She’s tired and it’s not all physical, he recognizes the pain that lingers on her face from when he meets his own gaze in the mirror in the mornings.

He’s never thought of her as fragile before.

Abby Griffin isn’t _fragile_ , she is strong and stubborn and fearless…

And now he fears she’s a little bit broken too.

“Maybe I can help.” he offers, gathering her papers to place them on the floor. She won’t learn this way, not when every clan has its own accent and its own dialect. Trigedasleng isn’t something you learn on paper, it needs to be heard and repeated. “Let’s start with an easy one… How do you say pain?”

That seems to him like the obvious first word to learn for a healer.

“Laudness.” she answers, uncurling her legs from under her. “But what _sort_ of pain?”

“Ask me.” he shrugs, lying down on the bed, forcing her to fold her legs to the side again.

An amused smile plays on her lips and even if it’s tired and a bit wistful, it beats the cold politeness from the last couple of weeks. He prefers it when she doesn’t keep him at arms lengths. He prefers it when she screams at him and fights with him. He doesn’t like the apathy, the _indifference_.

And he’s glad they’re past it.

He’s glad they’re doing better – not _great_ yet but better. 

“Marcus Kane, are you suggesting we play doctor?” she teases.

He lifts innocent eyebrows back at her. Truth be told, he _has_ originally only meant to help her figuring out how to conduct an exam in Trigedasleng but now that she has put _that_ idea in his head…

“I suddenly feel _very_ ill, Doctor Griffin…” he jokes, hoping for a laugh.

She does chuckle. It’s not as joyful or bright as it used to be but he counts his victories where he can get them. Her eyes are still sparkling while she quickly braids her hair like she almost always does when she is in Medical. “Let’s hope it’s not serious. You might need a shot.”

The mention of needles has him wrinkling his nose but he gently tugs on the end of her braid. “You need to practice. I’m willing to be your guinea pig.”

Isn’t that how they used to do it back in the day? He can remember Jake faking illness and injuries for her to figure out when she was still in training. He remembers himself, Thelonious and Callie being forced to play along quite a few times too.

“Thank you.” she smiles, leaning in to press a fleeting kiss on his lips he barely has time to respond to. Her nails scrape his beard lightly before she retreats and he finds himself smiling too, his chest swelling with all the love he sometimes think he can’t bear. It feels like too much on some days, like he is too old for that sort of reckless abandon, too old to feel this way, like he doesn’t deserve her or this, like… “Ha loudness ste?” she hesitates, her lips pursed in concentration, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil.

_How is the pain?_

Her pronunciation is clumsy and she never stresses the right syllable but he figures it’s understandable enough that Grounders will get the gist of it.

“Kudshap.” he answers without really thinking about it, folding one arm under his head. He keeps his eyes on her, taking the opportunity to study her face, the new wrinkles that appeared at the corners of her eyes in the last couple of months. He wishes he could take them away, erase them with a kiss, not because he thinks it makes her less beautiful but because he knows they’re from worry and stress and guilt.

She has gone to Becca’s lab on his order. She has pushed herself beyond the limits her morals dictate on his order. And he hadn’t understood, not until recently, just what it has done to her.

She has done what needed to be done, they both did, but that doesn’t make it any easier at the end of the day.  

She pauses for a second, thinks the word over… “Sharp, right?”

“Yes.” he confirms with a smile.

His eyes dart to hers and he forces himself to focus again. They can’t let the past cloud the present. They can’t. It’s exactly what has threatened to destroy _them_ in the last few week. He promised her he would show her the way out of the dark and that begins with himself letting go of his demons. For her sake. She needs him and he won’t fail her. He _won’t_. He can deal with his own faults later. He can keep them from her. 

So he focuses, amused by the way her eyebrows furrow in concentration, tempted to run his thumb on her forehead to erase the tension…

“How do you say _throb_?” she asks. He can’t help the smile turning a bit mocking, he can’t help the direction his thoughts go in. She whacks his stomach lightly, her own lips twitching, her brown eyes twinkling, but her voice still serious. “Are you helping me or not? Take your mind out of the gutter.”

“Kwiva.” he obliges.

“Kwiva.” she repeats, her eyes darting to the notepad. She’s dying to note everything down, he’s ready to bet. “Kwiva. Alright.”

“Are you going to ask what’s throbbing?” he teases innocently – if not a bit hopefully.

She ignores him.

“Weron ste loudness?” she asks next with more confidence. _Where does it hurt?_

“Hedlo.” he decides after a moment of consideration. “Ai ge ponch raun hedlo koken plan.” 

She frowns, trying to decipher that and clearly missing his complaining about getting hit in the stomach by a crazy woman. “Your chest?”

“Stomach.” he corrects. “Chest is _toso_.”

She sighs and pushes his shirt up to under his armpits without any sort of warning. He doesn’t complain though. He hardly ever complains when she wants to take his clothes off unless it’s to stick a needle in him.

“Fine. _Toso_ is this area.” she gestures at the upper part of his torso. “But what about specifics like pectoral or collarbone?”

“Collarbone is _kolkakla_.” he offers after thinking it over a moment. “I don’t think there’s a word for pectoral though.” She rests her palm on his right side and he supplies without her needing to ask. “ _Rib_ is _ribkakla_.”

“What about the ribcage as a whole?” she asks.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it.” He shakes his head. “It’s too specific. Maybe _lokakla_ but you should ask Niyhla to be sure.”

She sighs, dejected. “I will tell you what else is too specific and for which they don’t have words: organs.”

“ _Heart_ is _tombom_.” he informs her helpfully.

“And that’s the only one they know about.” she points out. “They don’t do surgeries.”

“But now they have you.” He covers her hand with his, distractedly running his thumb over her knuckles. “You can teach their healers.”

“Assuming I don’t confuse their stomach with their chest.” she snorts and reaches for his bundled shirt. He obediently lifts his upper body when it becomes obvious she wants him to take it off. He lies back down, sucking in a breath when she straddles his hips, his hands shooting to her thighs. She knows what she is doing to him, he can tell, first because she must have _felt_ it and then because there is this little smug smile on her lips he usually loves to erase with a kiss. She brushes her fingertips on his stomach. “Hedlo.”

Oh, so they’re having an anatomy lesson now…

Her forefinger circles his navel, clearly waiting for him to provide information.

“Pishedlo.” he offers, his voice much deeper than a few seconds ago. Her finger stops circling to head _down_ , following the path of dark hair that disappears in his pants, but when it bumps against his belt she moves it upward again until it retraces the shape of a rib.

“Ribkakla.” she says and he can only nod, her pleased proud smile doing _things_ to him. His fingers flex on her thighs and it only makes her smile harder as her finger moves up. “Toso. Kolkakla.” she names in turn before moving on to his shoulder. “Shod?”

“Yes.” he confirms and she beams.

She wraps her fingers around his biceps next. “Hanholda.”

“Arm.” he translates even if she doesn’t need him to. Her grip is light when it moves down his arm until it encircles his wrist and he closes his eyes under the slow caress. “Hanist.” he says when she remains silent, tacitly admitting ignorance.

Her touch is even lighter when it moves to the back of his hand. “Meika.” She strokes the length of one of the fingers digging in her thigh, amusement clear in her voice. “Finga.” He doesn’t anticipate her next move and so he sucks a breath in surprise when she leans down to nip at his neck. “Kola.”

“Kola.” he repeats, his hands moving from her thighs to her waist, not so subtly trying to pull her down, to create some friction because…

Her chuckles are muffled by his skin when her mouth trails down until her lips close on his right nipple.

“What about this?” she hums, her teeth scraping against the hard bud. His hips buckle up in reflex and his hands travel to her ass, abandoning all pretence of being _patient_.

“Latchon.” he whispers, straining his neck to get a taste of his own but she escapes before he can do so much as kiss her.

She draws back and he watches, his mouth suddenly parched, as she loses her jacket and slips her shirt and tank top over her head, leaving her half naked on top of him. It’s in moments like this that he thinks he can die happy.

She pries one of his hands off her ass to bring it to her breast and he is only too eager to knead and squeeze the way she likes. He pushes himself up and captures the neglected one in his mouth, sucking and gently nipping until he hears her soft moan of surrender. Her fingers run in his hair, tug a little.

“Tit.” he mumbles, planting a kiss on her breast, in case that’s what she’s after, before going back to torturing her with his tongue.

“Are you talking dirty to me or teaching me Grounder language, Marcus?” she grins.

“Ai gaf yu in.” he mutters. _I want you_. He flips them over with less care than he maybe should have shown. He forgets, for a second, that this bed is _small_ and not quite designed for this. Her shoulder hits the wall and he immediately tenses only to relax when her giggles fill the air, so girlish and rare that it never fails to bring a smile to his face. “Sorry.” he says sheepishly, pressing a kiss of apology against her shoulder.

“Ai laik… shanen yu gaf ai in… ba nou laksen ai.” she stammers, clearly searching for the right words. _I’m happy you want me but don’t hurt me._ She wouldn’t have been able to say that much a few weeks ago.

“Nowe.” he promises, nuzzling her neck. _Never._ “Ai hod yu in.”

“I love you too.” she breathes back, her nails lightly scratching the line of his spine. “Get naked.”

“Is that the doctor’s orders?” he jokes but loses no time in getting rid of the last pieces of clothing he’s wearing. She’s quick with hers too and he can only hiss in pleasure once he’s back between her thighs and there is no barrier of fabric between them. “There’s some areas we didn’t cover yet.”

“I have a feeling we’re about to.” she replies, groping him. She likes to do that in bed. “How do I call this?”

“Yours?” he snorts.

“That’s a given.” she deadpans but immediately kisses him only to arch her back when he moves his mouth back to her breasts. Her skin is delicate there and he knows she will have a small rash from his beard later but he can’t really care at the moment. “Marcus…” she gasps.

He doesn’t know if it’s a plea for more or a reminder that it’s supposed to be educational.

“As.” he answers either way because she’s squeezing his butt.

She lifts her eyebrows, amused. “Short and to the point.”

“Right?” He slides his hands from her knees to her thighs, squeezing to let her know what he’s naming but very much spreading them so he has room to move. “Nila. Sai.” His mouth leaves a trail of kisses down her stomach and he moves down until he reaches the soft hair between her legs. “Trapakipa.”

“Cute.” she comments but that ends up in a breathy moan when he pokes her with his tongue. It’s a few minutes before she pulls him back up to cover her with his body, her hand sneaking between them to wrap her fingers around him, a devilish grin on her lips. “Kwiva.” she observes and he doesn’t even have the heart to protest her mocking because he _is_ throbbing and, at least, it’s a word she will remember. “Mami.”

“Should I be concerned you know the Grounder word for penis?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows on either side of her head so he can look down at her while she strokes him. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Octavia.” she smirks, the spark in her eyes telling him she’s been planning to use that knowledge _just_ like this.

“Of course.” He’s not even surprised.

He leans in to kiss her, distracting her enough that he manages to pry her fingers away from him and settle between her legs. She moans in pleasure when he enters her and he closes his eyes, her warmth enough to make it hard for him not to embarrass himself.

On a lot of levels, this part of their relationship is still new. They had a few days in Polis – a few days they took _every advantage_ of – but after that…

Well, after that there has been _no_ time and she wasn’t in any mood to humor him like that after Praimfaya and it has only been a week or so since they started fooling around again and…

It’s still too new for him not to be _eager_. He’s not so young anymore and it has been long enough since he had a woman in his bed before Abby. And _damn_ if he doesn’t want to make sure he pleases her first. It’s too good to be rushed.

“They call sex _ses op_ , in case it’s something you think you should know.” he mumbles after a few minutes, bumping his nose against her cheek in a teasing fashion.

The grip she has on his hair is unforgiving – it hardly ever is, she has _a thing_ for his hair, she likes to pet it, tangle her fingers in it and, from time to time, tug on it – and she has no qualm on using it to bring his mouth back on hers.

All thoughts of learning Trigedasleng fly through the window they don’t have, it seems.

“Harder.” she demands.

And he obliges.

They’re sweaty and out of breath by the time they reach their release and he wonders if everything is alright with oxygen levels because it feels like no matter how deep a breath he takes, his lungs still burn. He rolls off her and onto his back and stares at the ceiling, trying to force his heart to beat at a more regular pace before it beats right out of his chest. He can’t remember if it felt like that on the Ark, not when the memories from Polis are so fresh in his mind. He doesn’t know if it’s sex on Earth that is so much sweeter or if it’s just sex with Abby. He’s leaning toward the latter.

When she snuggles into his side, clearly struggling to find her breath back too, he wraps his arm around her and kicks around until he can get a hold of the blankets. They wriggle under the sheets, mindful of the chill in the air.

He brushes his fingers up and down her arm, sleepy and ready to call it a night. Her own fingers are tracing random patterns on his chest and it’s lulling him straight to slumber.

“Thank you for the lesson.” she murmurs before pressing a kiss against his shoulder.

“ _Any_ time.” he chuckles.

“I think we should make them mandatory for everyone.” she suggests and he does wake up a little at that. Sleepy as he is it takes him a second to realize she means the actual language lessons and not the _sex-lessons_. She drums her fingers on his chest thoughtfully. “We’re outnumbered by Grounders and they don’t all speak English. It would make sense for us to learn. It would make communication easier. Particularly for Department heads.”

It’s the first time she has offered any suggestion as to how they should be doing this since they’ve started living in the bunker and, _of course_ , it’s a really good one. One he should have thought of before. One he _may_ have thought of before if _he_ wasn’t fluent in Trigedasleng.

“I will talk to Octavia.” he promises. “I’m sure we can find a few volunteers amongst the Grounders to teach classes.” Indra might be willing and he’s sure they can count on Niylah too. “You always have the best ideas, Abby.”

“We should see to the Council.” she sighs. “That’s what it’s here for, isn’t it? Advising the Chancellor?”

“We _have_ a Council.” he argues. An unofficial one, true, but he dreads organizing elections the way things are right now. In a few months maybe. But for now… For now they can’t afford another Pike fiasco.

If they reach a lasting peace…

If he’s _sure_ it’s in the best interest of everyone…

“We have me and Jaha.” she points out. “I haven’t been really useful and Thelonious…”

She lets her sentence trail off but he hears what she’s not quite willing to say. Thelonious is eager to get back in charge. He hasn’t really been invited back on the Council either. It has just… sort of happened.

“Yes.” he admits.

“We should bring more people in.” she insists. “Younger ones.”

“Octavia?” he suggests.

“Octavia is your boss.” she refutes. “And the Council is beneath the Chancellor. She can’t be _both_. I was thinking… Maybe Jackson.”

Jackson isn’t much of a politician and he’s very much in Abby’s pocket but he doesn’t point that out. The obvious choices, the ones who have been more or less officially _acting_ as Councilors are now all in space. He will think about it, come up with a list of candidates… Then, they can go over it.

She makes sure the alarm is set before switching the light off and snuggling more comfortably against him. It’s so dark in there without any light… It reminds him of the Ark after Diana stole the dropship sometimes. They’re not good memories.

He rests his cheek against the top of her head and closes his eyes.

“Reshop.” he murmurs, a little teasingly because he knows it will take her a moment to translate.

“Good night.” she echoes eventually, a little annoyed because she knows what he’s playing at.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Let me know!


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